


strange travel

by echovault



Series: out of this universe: road one [1]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Instability, References to Depression, recurring dreams: space death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 23:21:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12641391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echovault/pseuds/echovault
Summary: somewhere, someone was speaking to him, and this time, he’d listen. there was no need to move, it was happening already. a soft whisper, the voice of a lost astronaut whose soul was projected in the same stars he wanted to disintegrate into.all they wanted from him was to hear it. and he heard it, a tickle soft against the edge of his ear.can you see the sky, jinyoung?





	strange travel

**Author's Note:**

> i got sad and wrote this out. watch out for triggers, if you have anxiety or depression.
> 
> i want to make this longer, into a series that's space themed.

the wind blew.

and it blew. and blew. and it will blow on. it will always blow.  
and maybe that part was what hurt the most. that your absence won’t affect anything important. that flowers will continue to grow, and babies will still be born, maybe even tenfold for karma to refill the space your life was wasting. holidays, they’ll still be celebrated. your family, they’ll get over it.

he wasn’t sure how long he’d laid there, trenched in sand, counting on the sound of the wind and the idea of the waves being pulled by the stars that lazed behind clouds. his eyes were fixed to one spot, and the sky was grey fused with orange, blue, purple, a galaxy of colors overhead. the sun was going down, and soon he would too.

somewhere, someone was speaking to him, but he wouldn’t answer. he couldn’t answer. his hands just could not move to grasp the phone he felt buzzing in his pocket: he was paralyzed under the weight of the moon. it crushed him from every angle and the wrong direction, a car crash, a misused country atlas on a road trip flung out of the window, strangely. slowly. he pretended the pressure was the haze of taking his helmet off in space, a recurring nightmare that’d been keeping him awake and sweating for weeks. how quiet would be it as the air in his lungs forced its way out through his mouth like a vacuum in reverse?

they said what they had to say, his so-called brothers. he knew what they wanted from him. they pretended like they cared, but all they craved was stability, the chance to be absolved of watchfulness and observation, the same thing everyone wanted from him. they just wanted him gone they all wanted him gone and there was nothing he could do to change that but pretending everyday like he wasn’t the weakest link, like he wasn’t the worst of the bunch, like every second spent with them wasn’t like clawing his skin and fat from his bones, and he stayed. he stayed for them because they needed him, and what good was he if he wasn’t giving himself completely to his group even when he couldn’t afford to do so?

when the thoughts swirled fast, he would get ill, and oddly enough, he never wanted to fight it. they told him he’d have learn how to, but no one asked if he would miss the thoughts, the rationalization, the randomization. what if what he wanted was the instability, the way he could count on his thoughts being disorganized and sick, the idea that he was insignificant, the dream of finally being an atom amongst the milky way?  
those thoughts came and went as they pleased, a rocket ship on its way to destruction, a timed disaster. depression wasn’t new to him. depression wasn’t solely what brought him to the bridge, and it surely what wasn’t made him leave for the beach instead. it was the hope—the idea that life was better than this, and that he was better than this, that he could be better than this. it was the false promise of a life happy, one where he was exploring the space the way he grew up wanting to, with his helmet on and not off, the ways those started, rather than how they ended.

it was too late for him however. they could message him about love and unity all they wanted, the only unity he wanted was his bones fused with the meteoric dust that clouded asteroid belts.

 

somewhere, someone was speaking to him, and this time, he’d listen. there was no need to move, it was happening already. a soft whisper, the voice of a lost astronaut whose soul was projected in the same stars he wanted to disintegrate into.

all they wanted from him was to hear it. and he heard it, a tickle soft against the edge of his ear.

> _can you see the sky, jinyoung_?

_yes, i can. and it’s beautiful_.


End file.
